


Forging the Chains

by Leela



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Brad "Cheeks" Bell RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Fest: CBB, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're gorgeous, and you have the kind of dick that most guys would kill to have up their asses. Get the fuck out there and find yourself another freak. Someone who gets off on all that attention you have to offer, who wants to be the focus of all that intensity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forging the Chains

**Author's Note:**

> @qafmaniac is da bomb, taking my vague ideas and turning them into reality. Just check out her art and her soundtrack for proof of that. @silentdescant gets so much love and thanks for introducing me to Brad and helping me get to know him. And even more love to my wonderful betas, @floridaminxie, @aislinntlc, @eeyore9990, and @orasimcha, who listened to me talk through this story more times than any of us can count, who read through drafts and gave me feedback. Seriously, if there are any mistakes, it's on me, not them. 
> 
> Link to art/soundtrack master post: On [Dreamwidth, ](http://qafmaniac.dreamwidth.org/277563.html)[Livejournal](http://qafmaniac.livejournal.com/210350.html), and [Insanejournal](http://qafmaniac.insanejournal.com/288500.html)

  


  
"Christ, Adam, you're such a freak. What the hell do you expect me to do with _this_?" Jeremy Saunders flung the necklace at Adam.

Catching it by the chain before the triangular pendant and its embedded chunk of amber hit his face, Adam said, "What do you normally do with jewelry?" 

"Well, I'm not going to fucking wear it." 

"Why not?" 

"You can't be that stupid," Jeremy said, dragging his fingers through his hair, disheveling the dark blond curls that he'd spent ages getting just right. "Nobody does monogamy these days. What the fuck is the point?"

"I didn't say we couldn't—"

" _We_." Jeremy's mouth curled with disgust. "See now that's your problem right there. _We_ aren't a pair of sad old queens with bad dye jobs and even worse facelifts. We're young and beautiful, and we should take everyone and everything that's thrown our way for as long as it lasts."

Adam swung the pendant into his palm and closed his fist over it, tightening his grip until the edges dug into his skin, trying to hurt himself enough that he wouldn't make even more of an idiot of himself. 

Moving until he was standing right in front of Adam, Jeremy reached out and cupped Adam's face. "You're gorgeous," he said, "and you have the kind of dick that most guys would kill to have up their asses. Get the fuck out there and find yourself another freak. Someone who gets off on all that attention you have to offer, who wants to be the focus of all that intensity."

Numb right down to the bone, except for the pain in his chest that was as sharp as the one in his hand, hating himself for every syllable that forced its way past his lips, Adam asked, "What about us?"

"Oh, baby." Despite the sadness in his voice, Jeremy leaned forward and kissed Adam, pushing into him with his tongue and opening him up, once again baring every ridiculous hope and dream that Adam had buried deep inside. 

And then he was gone, leaving Adam with his lips parted, angled like the leaning tower of Pisa, and a sense of loss, of failure, that drove him to his knees. At least, he thought, wrapping his arms as tightly around himself as he could manage, Jeremy hadn't been predictable.

  


Barefoot, shirtless, wearing only a pair of skin-tight shorts, Brad mounted the small stage. He closed his eyes, avoiding the avaricious look on the club manager's face, and danced. He imagined the nameless, faceless men who haunted his dreams. All of them taller than him, big enough and broad enough to cover him, surround him, own him. He fucked the pole and imagined it was the kind of man he wanted to fuck and to be fucked by. His back arched and flexed. His hips undulated and thrust. His hands slid over his body and through his hair.

Until the music ended, and he fell to his knees, displaying the outline of his hard cock. God, he loved dancing.

Three sharp cracks of palm against palm, each one seeming to snap through his body, forced him to open his eyes and pay attention.

"You're a decent dancer. Know how to use that body of yours." The manager, Eytan Tormelinde, nodded his head, licked his lips, and beckoned Brad closer. Tormelinde was leaning against a table, but his legs were spread a little farther apart than they'd been when Brad took the stage. 

Rising to his feet slowly, conscious of Tormelinde's eyes on him, Brad made a show of stepping down to the floor. Ignoring the rest of his clothes, not bothering to wipe off the sweat, he sashayed slowly across the room towards Tormelinde.

"But you're not worth the trouble." 

"Not worth... are you crazy?" Brad tossed his head to flip his hair out of his eyes and struck a pose with one hand resting on his hip. "I'm better than anyone you've got dancing for you."

Avarice gleamed in Tormelinde's eyes briefly, but then he blinked and regret took its place. "It doesn't matter how good you are. I'd have to be crazy to let an underage boy dance in my club." 

Brad arched an eyebrow and treated Tormelinde to his haughtiest look, the one he'd practiced in the mirror for years. "I can prove I'm over twenty-one."

"No ID's that good." Tormelinde glanced over to the far corner, where a large, over-muscled idiot stood. "Grow up, little boy. Nothing trumps staying in business. Now get dressed and get out of here before I change my mind about letting your sweet ass go without taking advantage of it."

Rage flashed through Brad. He was so fucking tired of being tossed aside, treated like he didn't matter. Someone had to give him a job, because he wasn't going back to Texas and he sure as shit wasn't going to end up another statistic on the streets. Forcing himself to speak naturally, he said, "You knew you weren't going to hire me before I got on that stage." 

"Of course, I did."

"Then why have me dance?"

Tormelinde's laugh went through Brad like the harsh scrape of a match against a striker. "You can't possibly be that stupid."

Brad smiled as he stepped closer, rolling his hips. Then, when he was close enough, and Tormelinde was distracted enough, Brad ran a finger down Tormelinde's chest and rested the tip on his belt. He tilted his head so he was looking up through his eyelashes at Tormelinde and lowered his voice. "Oh, I'm far from stupid," he said. "Merely desperate."

Tormelinde licked his thin lips. "There're lots of desperate boys in this city. Why should I take a chance on you?" 

"Because I'm that good." 

"If you were really that good, you'd be in the movies." Tormelinde placed a finger beneath Brad's chin and tipped it up. "Now, what is it you want?"

"I _need_ ," Brad corrected him, feeling that the distinction was vital, "a job. Something that brings in enough money to survive in LA."

"Not too many people falling over their feet to hire a girly boy like you, are there?"

Disgust filled Brad, for himself and for what he'd been forced into, and he released Tormelinde. He went back over and grabbed his clothes. He was dressed and halfway to the exit when Tormelinde spoke again.

"You've got a nice enough body. Lots of men would spend more than a few bucks to have it."

"A whore?" Shock laced Brad's voice, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Prostitute. Male escort. Call it what you will." Tormelinde shrugged. "It's a job that pays well for the right kind of boy."

"And how much of that pay would you expect to take home?"

"Not as much as you would."

The hell of it was that Brad was seriously tempted by the offer. He turned, still trying to work out how to respond, when the idiot in the corner spoke up. 

In a gravelly voice that scraped over Brad's nerves, he said, "He'd be worth more dancing. Boy's clothes, girl's clothes, he could pull them all off."

"In more ways than one." Tormelinde's gaze turned speculative as he considered Brad. 

Seconds dragged on with neither of them saying anything. Brad shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. He reached for a cigarette. Remembering that he'd already smoked the ones he'd bummed from the guy at the club the night before, he began to twist the ring on his index finger. He almost pulled it off when Tormelinde finally spoke.

"Don't prove my partner wrong, okay? You do not want to piss either of us off."

Brad nodded and dredged up a smile from somewhere. It's not forever, he reminded himself. Because he was going to make it. He was simply too damn good not to become somebody.

  


Another night, another club, and the same group of people parading around, doing the same things. His foot tapping, his body swaying to the thumping beat, Adam stared at the bottom of his empty glass. He missed Berlin, where everything had been new and there'd been a surprise for him in every club, around every corner. People had worn costumes and make-up, some had even sculpted their hair into fantastic shapes, but they hadn't been trying for movie star beautiful. And he hadn't felt like quite so much of a freak around them.

Rising up on his toes, Adam looked over the heads of the people in front of him and tried one last time to find someone he knew. He'd talked to Elijah and Raphael briefly an hour or so earlier, and had seen someone from the back who might have been Hans, but none of them were out there right now. 

Adam sighed. Might as well get one more drink and then give it up for the night if his luck continued to be this bad. As he turned, a guy stepped in front of him. Tall, with dark brown hair in a corporate cut, his monotone clothing was right out of a magazine ad and worn one size too small to showcase gym-sculpted muscles. Ugh, so not his type.

"Hello." GQ guy gave Adam an appreciative once-over, his eyes lingering for so long on Adam's dick that Adam felt like pulling a Roxy and saying _Hey, dude, my face is up here_. 

"I'm looking for my friends," Adam said. There was a pause, and he could almost see the clichés ticking through the guy's brain. "And not looking to make any new ones," he added in an attempt to forestall the inevitable.

"We don't have to be friends," the guy finally said.

Giving him a half-smile, Adam shrugged. "Not my scene tonight." 

"Fair enough. If it ever is, I'm usually around." And, with that, the guy faded back into the crowd.

"Sometimes, you're your own worst enemy, boo."

Adam's smile expanded, became real. "Hey, Terrance. Come to save me from myself?"

"You don't need saving." Terrance slung an arm around Adam, kissing his cheek, and Adam leaned into him. "You need to get your ass laid."

A laugh huffed its way out of Adam. "Right now, I'd rather have another drink." He glanced at his glass sourly. "A real drink. Not another watered down pretender."

"Come on," Terrance said. "This crowd's worse than Tuesday night at Portos. Let's get the fuck out of here. My girl Toni's doing a show tonight, and I promised I'd drop by the club to watch. At the very least, there'll be some pretty boys swinging their things up on stage."

For a moment, Adam considered turning him down, but then he thought _what the fuck_ and dropped his empty glass on the closest table. "Got nothing and no one better to do," he said. 

"Ain't that the sad sad truth of our lives?" 

Half-walking, half-dancing to the music, Adam followed Terrance on a winding path through the tables.

  


Some days Brad remembered Texas fondly. This was not one of those days. In fact, after spending most of the day trying and failing to sleep, sliding from nightmare to nightmare, being drowned in a baptismal pool, being kicked, called names, and prayed over with words that drove themselves into his chest like knives, he'd have happily blown up the entire damn state and been done with it. After his head stopped pounding.

As he was happily contemplating weapons of mass destruction, the door to his studio apartment opened with a piercing squeak from the hinges he'd been after the super to oil forever. Brad rolled onto his back, pulled the comforter over his head, and groaned, "Shut the motherfucking day off."

There was another high-pitched squeal, the snick of the door being closed with more care than Toni had ever shown before, and an all-too-brief moment of blessed silence.

"Why are you still in bed? You didn't get up today, did you?" Each clack of Toni's heels against the hardwood floor reverberated through Brad, making him wince. Fucking drag queens and their fucking insistence on platform shoes with outrageously high heels that made ridiculously loud noises when they walked.

"Toni-iiiii," Brad whined the final vowel of Toni's name. "Your shoes are too loud."

Toni huffed, "Fine," and then there was only the whisper of nylon-clad feet until the bed dipped under Toni's weight and the comforter was pulled down, baring Brad's face to the cool air of his apartment. 

Brad blinked at the fuchsia pink and silver of Toni's hair, her over-dramatic make-up and matching dress. "Damn, it's the—" Brad frowned, trying to remember what special event could possibly be happening at the club that night and coming up empty. "What are we doing?"

"Dancing, flirting, making a scene." Toni winked at him. "Making some serious cash."

His usual enthusiasm for those things escaped Brad. The best he could muster was a sighed, "Ah." 

"You look like shit, darling," Toni said, changing the subject, her fingers gentle on Brad's cheek.

"Bad night." It was as much of an explanation as Brad was willing to offer, and even less of one if you considered the fact that the sun had been rising as he'd crawled into bed, but Toni understood what he meant anyway.

She gave his cheek a gentle pat, then stood up and flung the comforter to the bottom of the futon. "Okay, That's enough. You can't stay home any longer, wallowing in your misery. I'm taking you out after work. You need to find yourself a new man and do all the—" she flapped a hand at him "—new man things."

"New man things?" Brad raised an eyebrow, then winced as it set his head off again. "You're so eloquent tonight."

Refusing to take the bait, Toni pointed to the bathroom before sauntering off in the direction of his tiny little alcove kitchen. The sound of beans being ground was close enough to nirvana that it made Brad smile.

At least until he saw his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Then his smile vanished, and he nearly flipped the light back off again. But what had been seen could not be unseen. Even more importantly, he'd get shit for tips looking like that.

Still, he reassured himself, none of it was unfixable. Visine would take care of the bloodshot eyes, and make-up would hide the dark circles that drew all of the wrong kind of attention. His hair though — oh my god, he hadn't known it could do _that_. Barely waiting for the water to get warm enough, Brad jumped into the shower. 

He was on in less than an hour, but showing up late for work was far better than showing up like that.

  


The club was louder inside than Adam would have guessed when he followed Terrance through the outer door. All of the light seemed to be focused on the stage, splashing out to highlight the men and women sitting around it. The outer tables were in shadows, their occupants lit from below by the small candles in red glass holders.

"I want Toni to know I'm here." Grabbing Adam's arm, Terrance led Adam to a table that was close enough for a couple of the seats to catch light from the stage. 

Jittery from the lines they'd done in the car outside, his foot tapping, his body moving to the music, Adam took the least exposed seat and looked around while Terrance talked to the waiter. His eyes were immediately drawn to the stage, and the man sliding around the pole. He was far from the best dancer Adam had ever seen, nor was he the best-looking, but he was flexible and he prowled the stage like he owned it. Adam watched him, taking mental notes of the way the guy moved, the slide of his feet, the twist of his hips, the things that drew eyes to him and kept the audience's attention. 

Pulling his attention away from the dancer and his long, lean form, Adam glanced around at the other tables. The club was far better attended and the crowd far more mixed than he'd expected. There were men and women, straight and gay and somewhere in between. Some were dressed like mundanes, others in drag and in club costumes that rivaled Adam's own skintight pants and chest-baring shirt.

"Nobody bites here," Terrance said, nudging Adam and then handing him a vodka tonic.

"What if I want them to?"

Terrance laughed with delight. "That's between you and him. I'm not interested in getting in the middle tonight. Got my own plans for later."

Giggling, Adam took a sip of his drink. The vodka spread through him, beginning to calm the jitters. He wrapped his tongue around the cocktail spear. It was salty and sour and so much of what he needed right then. His cheeks hollowing, he sucked an olive into his mouth. 

"There are laws against doing that in public, you know." 

Adam looked up into a pair of amused brown eyes, looked further and his breath was stolen by a thin and small body, by dyed blond hair and a teasing smirk. Unable to think of a good comeback, he kept his gaze trained on the stranger as he raised the cocktail spear again, catching drips of salt-laced vodka in his mouth, and made a performance of licking one of the remaining olives and sucking it off. 

"Then again," the guy said, placing his hands on the arm of Adam's chair and leaning over him, "some rules are meant to be broken." His tongue curled around Adam's finger, warm and soft. He left it there for a second before sliding down it, over the remaining olives, and back up again. He repeated the movement, slow and seductive.

Breath hitching in his throat, every touch of this man's lips and tongue slammed through Adam, leaving his throat dust-dry and his pants even tighter than they had been only a few seconds earlier. Then, with a nip of sharp teeth to Adam's knuckle, the man straightened up gradually, running his hands down his sides and over his slim hips.

"What—" Adam's voice croaked. 

"Don't think too hard." The man winked at him. "You might break something." Then he spun around and sashayed off, his tiny ass swaying to the music as he disappeared into the shadows near the bar. 

"Dayam." Terrance stretched out the word. "You just going to let that one go?"

Blinking, Adam shook his head, trying to clear the haze that seemed to have filled it. He opened his mouth to say something, but the music blared louder, smoothed into a familiar rhythmic riff, and Terrance said, "Catch him later. My girl's about to strut her stuff."

_Oh, I will_ , Adam promised himself silently, rubbing his damp fingertip over his lips, already missing the shock of surprise, the flashing heat of arousal. He wanted to be surprised like that again, every morning given the choice, even if he had to come back there to make it happen.

  


Brad stood in the wings, waiting his turn, hidden from the audience by the heavy weight of dusty black velvet drape. He rubbed the fabric, wishing he was on the other side where he'd have the soft, thick pile to play with instead of the rough backing. His stomach fluttered with nerves, and he swallowed again and again, trying to clear his throat of the thick gunk that seemed to have filled it. Six months of dancing, he thought, and now he had to get stage-fright. Now when there was someone out there he cared about seeing him.

As Brad breathed deeply, rhythmically, and tried to relax, Qing made his final sweeping twirl, picked up his clothing, and danced his way off the stage. There was a pause, a not-silence filled with the clinking of glasses, the scraping of chairs, and the rumbling of voices, and then the music started again. His music. The heavy driving metal beat of the song he'd chosen, not just because he liked it, but because it was different from anything the other dancers used, and that made the audience sit up and pay attention.

When his cue came, Brad moved out of habit, slinking onto the stage. He wrapped his body around the pole, rubbed up and down it, and glanced out at the audience. 

_He_ was still there. Oh, he'd shifted his chair closer to his friend, out of the shadows and into the light, but those gorgeously blue eyes were fixed on the stage. On Brad. 

Dropping to his hands and knees, Brad slithered across the floor, curled into a ball and then expanded, spreading his legs to flash the closest tables with a not-quite-view of his tights-clad dick. The song thumped faster and louder, and Brad slid his hands over his body, undulated into his own touch, imagining that it was _his_ touch. _His_ hands and mouth roaming over Brad's body, fucking him, fucking with him. Harder than he'd been in months, Brad lost himself to the music and his imagination. 

Until the end, when the bass line thudded to a halt, and Brad raised his head. Only to see that the man had left. In the middle of Brad's dance. 

Pasting a smile on his face, Brad took one last spin around the stage. He collected the tips, avoiding the reaching hands with the deftness of long practice. Then he gathered up the clothes he'd discarded and raced off the stage. Not looking back at the empty table in the second row. 

It was a night for comforts, he decided. Some of that lovely smoke Toni had stashed at his place, a carton of ice cream, and a movie marathon or three.

  


"Neil, I don't have time for your shit right now. I'm going on in less than thirty minutes." Adam scowled at his reflection in the dressing room mirror. "And, for the record, we're fucking well not doing a repeat of last week. It was one thing to run out on a club and a guy I wanted to get to know better—"

"You're never that lucky." 

"I _left him_ ," Adam raised his voice to drown out Neil's snickering, "to go and save your ass."

"She threw me out. I didn't even know how to get to your place from wherever the hell that was."

"Venice," Adam said, shimmying his hips as he tried to adjust his pants without dropping his cell phone or damaging the elaborate costume. "And you couldn't have taken a cab?"

"With five bucks?" Neil made a rude noise. "Nothing's that cheap in LA. This place is worse than New York."

"All the more reason not to abandon a paying gig. If you can't afford a cab or get someone to drive you, stay home."

"Your internet sucks, and there's nothing on TV." 

Closing his eyes against the image of a five-year-old Neil having a temper tantrum, Adam muttered, "Hanging up now."

"I should have just gone to Mom's or Dad's. At least they'd have lent me a car."

"I can take you to the bus station tomorrow." 

"You're such a bitch."

"Love you too, baby bro."

"Of course you do." 

Smiling, Adam hung up his phone and reached up to tweak the front of his hair a little higher. If Neil ever changed, he figured the world would tilt on its axis and something, someone, would stop breathing.

  


"You've got an admirer." Tormelinde lounged in the doorway of the dressing room, blocking Brad's exit.

"What I've got are plans for tonight," Brad corrected him. "And I don't want to be late."

"This guy is important."

"To you."

When Tormelinde didn't respond, Brad sniffed and turned back to the mirror. He fluffed his hair, spraying it to hold its disarray, and blew a kiss at his reflection. Then he glanced up, and Tormelinde was standing behind him.

Brad stared at him in the mirror, his mind racing as he tried to interpret the avid expression on Tormelinde's face and decide whether Toni's curling iron would still be hot enough to make an effective weapon. 

"People want you," Tormelinde said, moving forward until there was hardly enough room between them for Brad to turn around. "Important people."

"Important to whom?" 

"To me." Tormelinde settled a broad hand in the small of Brad's back. "To you, if you're as smart as you think you are."

The touch, the weight, felt like an invasion. Brad's skin crawled, and he got that same sick feeling he'd gotten every time the asshole in charge of the anti-gay group back home had touched him. The urge to run, to just get the fuck out of there and never return slammed into his gut, and he almost choked on it. 

_Never again_. Brad had promised himself that when he'd packed up and left home. 

Meeting Tormelinde's eyes in the mirror, Brad said, "Oh, I'm far smarter than y'all think I am." Then he straightened up, raised one leg, and slammed his boot heel into Tormelinde's foot. "That," he said, spinning around, putting his hands on Tormelinde's chest, and shoving him backwards, "is my resignation." 

"You'll regret this. Every fucking day for the rest of your short life." 

"I don't think so." Brad gathered up the few things he'd left in the dressing room. "In fact, the only thing I'm regretting is that I got your foot and not your balls."

Tormelinde put his foot back down on the ground and winced. "You're finished in this business." 

"Oh, I most definitely am." Pausing at the doorway, Brad looked over his shoulder. "Don't bother having a nice life. I'll be busy doing it for both of us."

Near-hysterical laughter bubbled up inside Brad, as he hurried towards the exit. He was almost there when he heard Toni calling his name. 

"Do I even want to know what you've done now?" She stood in the middle of the hallway, hands on her slim hips.

"Given my notice." He beamed at her and, putting on his Texas, drawled, "They don't like my kind around here no more."

And then he slammed through the door and into the parking lot without looking back.

  


Adam walked over to where his clothes were hung up and slipped his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. Then he went to check himself in the mirror again, making sure that the phone hadn't fucked with his hair or makeup. He was just giving his eyeliner one last smudge when the door opened.

Terrance held a joint out to Adam. 

"Can't," Adam said. "I'm up next."

"You're gonna need it." Terrance came over and gave Adam's shoulder a careful squeeze. "Trust me."

"Jeremy," Adam breathed the name. "Motherfucker."

Terrance nodded, holding out his hand again.

Dropping the eyeliner pencil on the counter, Adam turned to face Terrance. He leant over the rising smoke and breathed deeply, pulling it into his lungs, feeling it seep through his body. Then the sound of cymbals crashing sent a rush of adrenaline through him, dissipating the all-too-brief languid feeling.

"Come on, time to give them a show." He gave Terrance a lopsided smile. "No matter who's in the audience."

Adam was at the door and only just managed not to stumble when Terrance said, "He brought a twink."

"Of course he did," Adam said. "Jeremy doesn't like himself enough to go anywhere alone."

"Meow." Laughing, Terrance raised his hands like claws. 

Adam bared his teeth in what he knew wouldn't pass for a smile, not with Terrance at least, and left the dressing room. As he headed for the stage and the oblivious high of performing, he decided that he was going to have to find someone to keep him company that night. There was no way he was going to be alone when Jeremy, inevitably, pushed his way backstage after the show.

  


They were late. Far more than fashionably, if Brad were being honest. But Toni fluttered her eyelashes at the man on the door, and he allowed them to sneak into the show during a break between acts. Their seats were on the end, near the front. Brad ushered Toni into the row with a flourish before dropping down into the aisle seat. He slumped backwards and closed his eyes, trying not to listen to the _What the fuck have you done now_ voices in his head.

A snide voice from behind sneered, just loud enough for Brad to hear, "Fucking entitled queens, prancing in near the end of the show like they own the place."

The anger that still simmered beneath the surface flared into life again, and Brad sat up and twisted around in his seat more than ready to confront yet another arrogant fucker. The guy behind him had thick dark blond hair that Brad would have killed to have, broad shoulders, and a barely dressed twink sprawled over him. 

"What did you say?" Brad hissed. 

Before Brad could say anything, however, Toni half-turned to face the row behind. 

"Don't be jealous, darling," Toni patted her hair. "We can't all be beautiful."

Before the asshole could say anything, a note from a guitar pierced through the murmured conversations and the people around them made shushing noises. 

Notes piled upon notes, filling the room, building and building until a man strode out to take center stage. 

"Adam," the asshole breathed, "look at you." 

And just like that Brad had a name for the face and the body that had haunted his dreams. He had a moment to enjoy black spandex pants that looked like they'd been painted onto Adam's muscled thighs, the silver belt that hung low enough over his hips to draw attention to what had to be a damn spectacular dick, and then Adam opened his mouth and began to sing.

Nothing else mattered, neither Tormelinde, the asshole behind them, nor the fact that Brad didn't have a job. He hadn't a fucking clue what the song was, didn't give a shit, either. He didn't care about anything but watching Adam with the same kind of intensity that Adam had watched him the week before.

Then Adam squatted down. His thigh muscles flexed, and his legs parted, showing off a hard-on that made Brad squirm in his seat and clutch the seat arms in an effort not to reach down and adjust himself. His dick tightened further when a male dancer crawled out of the pile that was undulating at the front of the stage and slithered up Adam's legs, nuzzled into the crease of Adam's thigh. Adam's hand came down to cradle the back of the dancer's head, and Adam's hips rolled. 

Brad bit back a whimper, as a kaleidoscope of images whirled through his mind. Sucking that dick, being fucked against a wall, being on the bottom, on the top. He licked his lips, crossed his legs, and thanked whatever the fuck kind of spirit was out there when the music faded out, Adam's voice rose on the last word of the song — into a note that seemed to curl itself around Brad's dick — and then the lights went black as Adam took a bow. 

Applause thundered around them, voices called for another song, and Brad sat there with his lips curved into a smirk. One way or another, he decided, he was going to have that guy.

  


Backstage was crazy. Smoke wreathed the ceiling. People were everywhere, performers and their friends, sharing drinks and kisses. Some stayed together; others moved from group to group, from couple to couple. Adam slipped through the throng, looking for Terrance or Scarlett or someone else he trusted. With Jeremy there, he needed to be with someone who made him feel safe.

He was making his way to the corner where Scarlett and Lee were holding court when a familiar voice pinned him in place. 

"You were amazing up there." Jeremy came to stand next to him. 

"Thanks." Forcing the word out, Adam shifted sideways but only managed a step before he was blocked by a pair of women who were shotgunning smoke. 

"This look suits you." Jeremy reached out, stroked a fingertip down Adam's fishnet-covered chest. "I can't believe you never told me about this or invited me to a show. It could have changed so much. "

Adam shook his head and swallowed, trying to wet his mouth enough to talk without croaking. A bottle was shoved into his hand by a passing drag queen, and he took a drink without checking what it was. 

"You never drank domestic beer, either."

"We fucked," Adam said, his mouth finally unstuck enough to allow the bitterness to bubble up. "You never seemed interested in much more about me than my dick or my ass."

Wrinkling his nose, Jeremy said, "I sat through those dreary musicals of yours. Pretended to be proud of all those nothing roles. And all the time you were holding this back from me."

"This would have made a difference?" Adam didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Oh my god, I can't believe you. I told you about Zodiac, more than once. You always had some damn excuse for not coming to see the show."

"But if you'd really told me, given me some idea what this was like—"

"Oooh, Jeremy. You've got the singer." A man slipped beneath Jeremy's arm, placed a possessive hand on Jeremy's chest, and gave Adam a considering look. "Can we bring him home tonight? I could use a bit of that." 

Adam tried to back up again, almost losing his balance when he had to abort mid-step to avoid stomping on someone's foot. He stood there, feeling like a complete idiot, all the confidence and belief in himself oozing away as Jeremy gave him his best crocodile smile and caressed the twink who'd taken Adam's place.

  


Head high, tossing compliments and blowing kisses right and left, Toni swept through the backstage party. Brad followed along in her wake, his mind bouncing between Tormelinde, the asshole from the row behind, and _oh Christ_ Adam.

"Stop it." Toni had stopped and was facing him, tapping her foot on the floor. "You'll find another job. It was past time you got out of that rut anyway."

"Actually, I—" Brad began to say then stopped and turned when a familiar voice cut through the hubbub of sound.

"Oh, I don't think so, darling. Adam isn't worth a fraction of the investment he'd require from us." 

A high-pitched giggle followed with an "Oh, Jeremy, you're so bad."

And with that Brad had had enough. "Asshole," he growled, spinning around on one heel and shoving his way between the two women in front of him. The asshole — Jeremy — was there, practically mauling the twink who was wrapped around him. Right in front of Adam, who looked like he was curling into himself. 

Cursing under his breath, Brad moved to Adam's side before he could change his mind. "Hello, baby," he said. "Sorry I was late." 

"Umm... hi?" Adam blinked down at him, clearly surprised, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he adjusted his arm and pulled Brad closer. 

"Hi," Brad said, giving Adam a wink. Then he cupped his hand around the back of Adam's neck and pressed, encouraging him to bend down as Brad rose up on his toes, and they kissed.

_Oh my fuck, that mouth_ , Brad had a moment to think before Adam had both his arms around him and was licking him open. There was tongue and teeth, the taste of lipstick and beer, sucking and nipping, and sparks that seemed to cascade through Brad. He looped his other hand around Adam's neck, curled a leg around Adam's hip, and let him take control. 

One of Adam's hands curved around Brad's ass, lifting him onto the tips of his toes and pulling him closer. The other slid into Brad's hair. And Brad wanted, needed, to have more, to feel more. He rubbed against Adam, shifting around until Adam's _oh hell yeah_ dick was digging into the flat of his stomach. 

Adam pulled back with one last sweep of his tongue over Brad's lips, and Brad had to fight the urge to chase after it. Instead, he let Adam return him to his feet and put enough space between them that Brad could look up at Adam without having to tip his head back. 

"Hey," Adam said, sounding ridiculously shy for someone who could kiss like all kinds of sin. 

"I've missed you," Brad said, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were true, even though he didn't know how that could be possible. 

"You... What are you even—"

"Shush." Brad placed a finger on Adam's lips for emphasis and slanted a meaningful look at Jeremy, who was standing there, staring at them as if they were aliens.

Adam glanced from Brad to Jeremy and back again. His entire being lit up in a smile so bright that it made Brad feel giddy.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Adam," Jeremy said. "Assuming, of course, that you know this one's name."

"I always know the names of the guys I sleep with, _Jeremy_ , unlike some people I know."

"And yet you still haven't told me his." Jeremy's eyes narrowed, his upper lip curled with distaste, as his gaze swept Brad from head to foot, leaving Brad feeling chilled. "You do know what he does for a living, at least?"

A thousand retorts flew through Brad's mind, but he couldn't settle on a single one of them as being sarcastic enough, smart enough, or devastating enough. He was still scrabbling through them when Adam spoke up and replaced all of his near-brilliant ideas with a bright smile.

"Do you think I'm a complete moron? He dances on stage before an appreciative audience. Not so different from what I did tonight."

"Not quite the same thing." Jeremy sniffed. "I'd hardly call what he does dancing."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. How did I miss the fact that you're a complete ass?" Adam grabbed Brad's hand and squeezed it just a little too tightly, not that Brad was going to complain. "We've got much better things to do than stand here listening to you get off on the sound of your own voice."

Brad resisted Adam's tug on his hand just long enough to waggle the fingers of his free hand at Jeremy. "Buh bye," he said, and then let Adam drag him off through the crowd.

  


All Adam had been thinking about was getting away from Jeremy, as far and as fast as he could. Or, even better, getting away from anyone and everyone who might have seen him cower down before that fucker. He pushed his way through the crowds, ignoring all the friendly overtures and the offers of drugs and drinks. Instead, he tightened his grip even further on the guy's hand — and he really had to get his name before he fucked him — and headed for the, thankfully empty, dressing room.

Dragging the guy inside, closing the door behind them, Adam turned and looked at him. At the tighter than tight, low slung silvery pants, the form-fitting black shirt that was just sheer enough to hint at the body beneath, the slice of pale skin between them. The way he preened under Adam's gaze, held Adam, froze him to the floor. Adam licked his lips, tried to find something to say, something that would make him feel like less of an idiot.

The guy pressed forward, pushing close enough that his silver pendant dug into Adam's ribs. "I'm Brad," he said, with a husky edge to his voice that shot straight to Adam's dick. 

"Adam."

Brad winked, slowly, lasciviously. "Well, hello Adam. So glad to finally meet you." He curled his fingers around the collar of Adam's vest, nails scraping lightly across Adam's chest. "I'm not letting you leave me this time, not without some kind of satisfaction." And then he slithered up Adam's body, rolling his hips and surprising Adam into movement. 

"Who says you'll have a choice?" Adam slid his hands down Brad's narrow sides, splaying them, reveling in Brad's tiny waist, his slimness, the deceptive strength of the muscles that Adam could feel. Cupping his hands beneath Brad's ass, he lifted Brad up and fitted their mouths together. 

Their kiss was, somehow, hotter than the last. Brad wrapped his legs around Adam's waist, gripped Adam's shoulders, and they writhed, bodies moving to the same rhythm as their tongues. And when it was enough, when Adam felt like he was seconds from the edge, he broke the kiss and dragged his lips along Brad's jawline to his ear. "Say yes," he murmured.

"Yes," Brad said, arching his neck as Adam nuzzled the soft skin beneath his ear.

Adam stayed like that for a moment, his lips against the soft skin of Brad's neck, tasting and smelling him, his cologne, before he bit lightly, quickly. Then he raised his head to look at Brad, gauge his reaction. He was big, and some partners appreciated that more than others.

"Make that 'hell yes'." Brad said. "And don't even begin to think that you can break me."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Nope." Brad's eyes danced with amusement. "It's a warning."

"You're not going to be boring at all, are you?"

Instead of replying, Brad pushed Adam's vest aside to lick at Adam's nipple.

The heat of Brad's mouth was a shock on Adam's skin. His teeth were sharp, his lips soft, and he sent _want_ curling down Adam's spine to settle in his dick and balls. He squeezed Brad's ass, twisting his fingers in the cleft, and groaning when Brad pushed back on them. That need for more drove him forward, nearly stumbling in the platform boots he'd worn on stage. He shoved Brad on to the counter, knocking over bottles and sending tubes rolling away. 

Outside someone turned up the music. The bass line vibrated through the dressing room, through Adam and Brad. They kept kissing, biting, sucking, licking, as they clawed at their clothes, almost ripping Brad's shirt when it got caught halfway over his head. 

"You," Adam breathed, then he bent down and traced his tongue over Brad's ribs, outlining them, stopping to worry the skin with his teeth when he hit a ticklish spot. Brad's nipples were pale, small, and far more sensitive than Adam's. 

Brad slid to the edge of the counter, head and shoulders resting against the mirror, his legs around Adam's hips, his dick and balls against Adam's. "Tell me you can take a hint," Brad said, tugging on Adam's hair and pulling his head back.

The sharp pain sliced through Adam, making him blink and drawing a moan out of him. 

"More importantly, tell me you have condoms and lube."

"We have condoms and lube," Adam parroted, doing his best to mimic Brad's accent. When Brad made a face, Adam grinned and reached sideways, digging into an open drawer for what they needed.

While Adam was doing that, Brad opened his own pants and shoved them down his legs, wriggling and shifting and twisting in a way that had Adam palming his own dick through the spandex. Impatient, unwilling to wait, Adam tossed the tube and packets on the counter, and yanked on Brad's high-heeled shoes, pulling them off, dropping them onto the floor. Brad's pants followed.

And, just like that, Brad was naked, wearing nothing but his ornately carved silver pendant, and Adam couldn't breathe. Brad's dick was hard, slightly curved, and Adam was bending down, licking the tip before he'd so much as thought about it. Fuck, but he loved that taste, that unmistakably male taste. 

"Adam," Brad groaned his name. "Don't fucking tease. Not this time."

_This time_. The words echoed inside Adam, wrapped around his dick, drew him up, had him kissing Brad again as he uncapped the lube with one hand and squeezed it onto his fingers. He shook as he shifted enough to get his hand to Brad's ass, pressed the first finger inside him. 

Adam's breath hitched, and he closed his eyes. It was a little like love, that feeling. The closeness, the trust that was required for another man to let him inside, Adam craved it like food, like water. It was his obsession, his need. And this time, with Brad, it wasn't like any other. He'd fall to his knees, do anything to find out how Brad moved when Adam was inside him. 

"Fuck this," Brad said, as Adam pushed three fingers into him. "Y'all couldn't get me any more ready if you tried." He picked up a condom, opened the packet, and held it out for Adam. "Get those damn pants of yours open."

"God yes." Adam almost moaned as he pulled his fingers out of Brad. Uncaring of the lube that he was smearing on the spandex, Adam peeled the spandex away from his sweaty skin and got them down to mid-thigh. The loss of the constricting fabric, the sensation of air on his dick was almost too much for Adam. 

But soon enough the condom was on and Brad had somehow contorted himself so that his hands were flat on the counter behind him and his legs spread. Wide open to Adam.

Pressing the tip of his dick to Brad's hole, Adam stared at it, fought the urge to drive his dick inside, fast and hard. His hands were clenched. He breathed in short, sharp gasps.

Then, before he could think, could move, Brad dug his heels into Adam's back and impaled himself on Adam's dick. 

Adam stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed and stunned, then he moved. Pulling Brad closer, holding on to him, Adam did what he wanted, what Brad seemed to want. "Hold on," Adam said. 

Brad's arms went up and he clutched at the mirror, coming close to burning himself on the make-up lights as Adam thrust. Fast and hard. Quick and dirty. Adam raised a hand, fitted it to Brad's throat, holding on, angling his head so they could kiss. They licked at each other. Sucking and biting kisses that seemed to draw out Adam's soul.

And each time Adam's dick slid over Brad's prostate, a litany of words and sounds came from Brad, his accent growing thicker and thicker until Adam couldn't understand any of them. 

When he was close, when he could feel his balls draw up and his dick thicken and harden even more, Adam reluctantly let go of Brad's throat, feeling Brad's sigh of disappointment against his skin as he pushed his hand between them and wrapped it around Brad's cock. He jerked Brad off, roughly, the way he liked it, and Brad's head went back, and he yelled as he came, spilling over Adam's hand, tightening around his dick, and sending Adam tumbling into orgasm.

  


Brad felt marvelous. Aching and sore, tired and zingingly alive. He was well fucked out, and he loved it. He stretched, flexing his fingers and toes, enjoying every prickle of ache and echo of pleasure.

They were dressed again, having cleaned up with water from a bottle of Evian and one of the cloths that the performers used to remove make-up. And now they were lying on a torn and stained divan that had been shoved into a corner of the dressing room. Too torn and rickety to be used on stage, it was a little too small and just perfect for both of them. 

Brad was half on top of Adam, one of his legs between Adam's. He had his head propped up on one hand so he could see Adam, be sure that Adam's expression matched his words. Adam was holding on to him as if he was afraid Brad would disappear if he let go, alternating between stroking Brad's back and petting his hair. 

"Hey," Adam said, a goofy smile on his face.

"Hey." Brad smiled back. "You know," he continued, trying for casual, "we should do that again."

Adam's eyes lit up, and his smile widened into a full-on grin. "We could do more..." His smile faded a little and he added, "If you're interested, that is."

"Oh? What kind of more?" 

"You know, things. Dressing up. Playing around. Pushing the envelope. Haven't you ever wanted to try things?"

"Try?" Brad drawled. Images cascaded through his mind, from movies and magazines, from the shops in West Hollywood and the back rooms of clubs. Oh, he'd definitely like to do more than a few of those. He waggled his eyebrows at Adam, knowing that he looked more silly than alluring. "Do or do not, baby. There is no try."

Adam giggled and batted at him. "You're crazy. You know that, right?"

"Best way to survive the insanity that's our lives," Brad said. Then he shifted himself upwards, dragging his leg over Adam's dick, and kissed Adam to get him to shut up about a future that had always defied any planning Brad tried to do.

  


**Epilogue**

Music, voices, and drums echoed across the desert. The sky was lightening from black into blue, the stars disappearing, as dawn drew closer, bringing with it the inevitable end to the festival. An end that seemed so much more final than the burning. 

Adam sat on top of one of the many structures scattered around the Burning Man encampment. His legs hung off the edge, his feet swinging in mid-air, and he held onto Brad, who was curled up in his lap. The woman sitting next to him offered him a pipe. Pushing aside the scarf that protected his mouth, he brought the pipe to his lips and sucked deeply, feeling the burn in his lungs as they expanded. He bent his head, lifting Brad's scarf and matching his mouth to Brad's before releasing the smoke. Twice more, and then he handed the pipe back to her. 

He kissed Brad lazily, licking at his lips, tasting the sand and dust that was everywhere, on everyone. 

"We'll come back," Brad murmured, his voice rough from the singing and yelling. He sipped from the unlabeled bottle in his hand and then handed it up to Adam.

"Next year," Adam promised. He raised the bottle to his lips. The water was warm, stale, perfect. He took another long drink before pulling his scarf back into place.

Resting his chin on Brad's head, Adam looked out over the playa. A few people still roamed around, some were still dancing, but it was quiet, peaceful. There was none of the fire, the blindingly bright lights, the brilliant fireworks from before and during the burn. 

He was exhausted, filthy, fulfilled, and he had Brad. Life was good.

~fin~


End file.
